A Throne For Hope To Sit
by meganface
Summary: When he leaves the house, punching Lip on the arm on his way out, he lights one of Ian's cigarettes and allows himself to smile.


**So this is in the same happy 'verse as There Are Ghosts In The Walls and You Kissed Your Fear Instead Of Me, where nothing after them getting jealous of each other happened.**

Jealousy has never been a foreign concept to Mickey. When he was little he got jealous over the normal, petty shit. Like if a kid in his class brought in a toy that was cooler than the crap he had at home. Or when they came back after summer break all tan, talking about the fucking Bahamas or Tijuana or some shit. Normal stuff.

But then he started to get jealous of Mandy. God, _so_ fucking jealous. It started after the first time his dad hit him, because later that night he let Mandy sit on his lap and he called her his 'princess'. And it's not like Mickey wanted to be called fucking 'princess', obviously he didn't. The point is that his dad cared enough about Mandy to give her a petname instead of a split lip.

Sometimes, when Mandy took a bath, Mickey would hear his mom sing to her. Real softly and quiet. He'd never pick up on what the song was, didn't know if it was one she'd just made up or not, but her voice would drift out, wrap itself around him until he felt like he was choking on it.

Mickey's mom was nice to him, she was. But she was nicer to Mandy; preferred her. Everybody always preferred her.

After their mom died, Mickey only really felt jealous of the fact that Mandy looks so much like her. That, if she wanted to, she could look into the mirror and see her again. Didn't have to rely on the few pictures left after his dad burnt almost all of them.

Once, when they were both drunk on cheap vodka and watching CSI, Mickey told her that. And she sighed and said, "Yeah, I know. I hate it", and Mickey didn't understand.

He's over it now, though. Now he can look at Mandy easily, doesn't make his stomach feel weird. And his dad's opinion of Mandy doesn't matter to him, he doesn't care so much that she's the favourite because he understands why. Being the only girl and all that bullshit.

As if Mandy isn't just as corrupt and dangerous as the rest of them.

The only jealousy Mickey feels anymore is down to Ian fucking Gallagher. Because the guy gets to him. It got to him when he was fucking around with that grey-haired cunt who was too smug for his own good and it got to him when he was fucking around with that Asian kid. He doesn't see them anymore, obviously. Don't mean Mickey's forgotten.

And Mickey is well aware of how much of a fucking hypocrite he is - 'cause he fucked Angie and those guys in juvie - but he doesn't give a shit. Doesn't give a shit because he didn't like them, not one bit. And Ian liked him, the doctor guy; the fact that he'd kiss him and would take him to nice hotels and buy him shit. All things Mickey doesn't do.

Mickey can hang out with him and bend over for him and that's sort of about it. He_ isn't_ jealous that fucking Lloyd could offer him more, fuck that. Because Ian chose him. Sometimes that's enough, other times not so much.

Ian groans beneath him and Mickey smirks, rides him even slower because he knows it pisses him off.

"Fuck's sake, Mickey."

"If you think you could do better..." he trails, raising his eyebrows, and he laughs when Ian surges up and flips them over.

He wraps his legs around Ian's waist on instinct and Ian buries his face in his neck, snaps his hips over and over until Mickey's a mess of sweat and moans and comes just before Ian does.

Mickey doesn't care that Ian flops down on top of him with all that fucking muscle and shit. There's a pack of smokes and a lighter on Ian's windowsill and Mickey stretches up to get them, lights up and blows smoke to the ceiling.

Ian says, "Pass me that", when he props himself up on his elbows.

With a huff, Mickey puts the cigarette between his lips and watches the way Ian's cheeks hollow slightly when he takes a drag, bites his lip when Ian doesn't even take the thing out of his mouth when he exhales the smoke. Fuck, Mickey fucking hates him and his fucking face sometimes.

The front door closes and Ian shouts out, "Lip?", and then someone's running up the stairs and Mickey feels like hitting him upside the head. Because he knows Lip knows and Lip knows he knows and it's - well it's not fine, far from it, but it's not as bad as, like, his dad knowing, so Mickey can deal with it. Doesn't really have a choice because Lip's walked in on them like five fucking times.

"It safe in here?" Lip asks, smirk clear in his voice.

Ian says, "Yeah", and Lip walks in all pretentious and fucking smug and Mickey thinks it's lucky that Ian's still slightly on top of him otherwise he'd have punched the dick by now.

Lip rummages through the wardrobe, gets out a short-sleeved shirt practically identical to the one he's already wearing, and puts it one. "Hey, y'know Carl's here, right? And if I tell him not to come in here, he will immediately come in here."

Sighing, Ian hands the cigarette back to Mickey. He's silent for a while and it makes Mickey feel unbearably awkward.

"Don't bother," he hurries to say, "gotta go now, anyways." And he ignores Ian's face because he knows it's going to be all hurt and disappointed because they're supposed to be over this, but Mickey needs to go. Just does.

Lip nods, leaves.

Falling to the side of the bed so Mickey can get out and dressed, Ian says, all bitter, "So as soon as more than one person is in the house, you just leave? Just like that?"

"So fuckin' what if I do?" Mickey mumbles, buttoning his jeans. He turns to face Ian and studies him: the slow rise and fall of his chest, his hand playing with the blankets in that way he does when he's pissed off. It's such a weird reaction to anger and it never fails to make Mickey smile, feel sappy as fuck for it. "Hey, man, come on. I'll see ya later." And he will because he wants to, fucking always wants to see Ian.

Ian mumbles something with that sarcastic face he pulls that makes Mickey want to deck him. And Mickey thinks about Mandy getting all the attention when they were young and he looks at Ian and sees something he has all to himself. Someone who gives him his full attention. Not because he has to, not out some sort of fucking parental obligation. Just because. And he wonders if in some, like, parallel universe where they don't have to fuck in quiet - he wonders if there'd be people who'd look at him with Ian and be jealous of _him_. He thinks there ought to be because Ian's the fucking best person he knows.

And he puts on his shirt and his shoes and he finishes off the cigarette and thinks about that fucking pensioner bastard and thinks about petnames and his mom and he leans over and kisses Ian. Short and hard.

He pulls back and thumbs at his bottom lip and feels his stupid heart going crazy at the look on Ian's face. Nobody has looked at him like that. Like he hung the goddamn moon and stars or some shit.

Mickey stands, pockets the pack of smokes that don't belong to him. "Come over later," he says and Ian just nods, still grinning. "Fuckin' idiot," he mutters but it comes out fond. He's fucking _fond_ of Ian, Jesus.

When he leaves the house, punching Lip on the arm on his way out, he lights one of Ian's cigarettes and allows himself to smile.

**Feedback is always appreciated :)**


End file.
